Above us all
by Gray Doll
Summary: When it's Christmas, people celebrate. They're mirthful and they smile, they embrace each other and, well, they have no reason to feel sad, nervous... He did not understand that. No, correction -he did not understand how they could believe in a God that allowed him to live and kill.


**Author's Note: Alright. This is my very first Joker story, and I'm not entirely sure I like how it turned out, but, oh well. This occured after watching the Dark Knight and a Christmas movie, and it's a little darker than I had planned, but still lighter than some other things I've written and have not posted anywhere out of fear. **

**There is contemplating God and religion in this story. If you think you might get offended by it, please do not read this. I want to point out that the views stated in this story are _not _mine, just the character's -who does not belong to me ('enter disclaimer here'). **

**Reviews are greatly appreciated!**

**x**

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

The clock struck rhythmically. It was almost midnight. A pair of inconstant eyes gazed out of the roily window, and through the white mass of falling snow and tilted trees they descried a large ruddy building with intricate stained glass windows.

Ah, what a beautiful day, Christmas. What a beautiful holiday, what a beautiful excuse for shopping impetuously and not going to work. Truly, Christmas was the most beautiful time of the year.

Oh well, that's what _everyone_ said. He had never viewed Christmas as _beautiful_. Truth be told, people seemed to have more fun at that day of the year than they usually did, but still he could not understand how all of these spineless little creatures enjoyed Christmas so much.

Perhaps it was the gifts they received. Oh, or the pretty little knickknacks they bedaubed their houses with –and of course the endless repast, feasts and mirthful carols.

It was all so pretty and yet so… meaningless. The happy-go-lucky citizens were blissfully daft, spending all their money to buy large plastic trees they would eventually throw away and kitschy colorful trumpery to cover their walls, tables and windows.

Oh yes, Christmas certainly was… well, of no account. Sappy, kind of. Pretty, yes, but so slap happy.

People seemed so happy when Christmas arrived. He had noticed that. Sometimes he tried to remember if he had ever been happy about Christmas' approaching, but he failed –miserably. Truth be told, he always failed whenever he tried to recall snapshots of his early life. All he knew about himself was the man with the scars (he didn't even remember how the hell he had gotten them in the first place) and the smile, the green hair and the beautiful explosives. Oh yes, explosions and chaos _were_ _beautiful_, but Christmas? He didn't think so.

People were cheerful, and they even went to church. _Church_. Because their jolly Christmas was named after the birth of their Christ. The son of God. He failed to suppress a dark chuckle that left his lips as his eyes fell on the large cross at the top of the building. Religion was so important for all these people.

In fact, it seemed to be what molded and gave shape to their lives. It guided them, prescribed their way of living, they based what they could and could not do on religion. They were convinced they would go somewhere better after death, if they lived their lives according to their _religion_.

This was not at all reasonable, if you asked him. No, it wasn't. They believed there was a God above them all, who watched over them. A God who protected them.

He dared digress. He was sure that, if there was a God above them all, then he wouldn't have scars and he wouldn't have a painted face. And he wouldn't blow things up. He wouldn't kill people ('_Thou shalt not kill_', _yeah, sure_, he often thought). If there was a God above them all, he would protect all these people and he wouldn't let him kill them.

Only there wasn't.

Well, too bad. The clock struck midnight, and the bells chimed rhythmically, congruously –and he could have sworn he heard people laughing and exchanging best wishes. Foolish people. But they were amazing targets –he had to acknowledge them that.

He chuckled again as he turned from the window and started for the stairs that led to his bedroom. He had promised the little redhead that he would allow her to hear the church's bells before he went upstairs –not that she had asked him to, but anyway, he had felt rather generous at that point.

The wooden stairs creaked under his weight as he ascended, but he didn't really mind. Outside, the bells were still going on. Needless noise. _Oh, whatever_.

He was not surprised to find her curled up in a ball on his bed. When she heard him open and then close the door softly behind him, her eyes shot up at him, wide open in shock and horror, a brilliant blue marred by red –was it the lack of sleep or the fear that had caused it? He couldn't quite tell.

"Good evening, my dear," he said happily, taking a few steps closer and slumping on the bed, his smile widening as she cringed away from him. "And merry Christmas!"

She didn't respond, her breathing coming out ragged, which only made his grin fade. "Won't you say hi? Won't you wish me merry Christmas too?"

The girl remained quiet, not bothering to push the red strands of hair away from her eyes as she clutched at the duvet and moved to the back of the bed, bringing her knees to her chest. His eyes narrowed and he shifted closer to her, his gloved hand reaching for the small knife inside his pocket. "You are being very rude, you know that?" he demanded and she let out a shriek when he took out the knife and brought it to her neck, grabbing a fistful of her hair with his free hand.

"Please," she managed to utter, her voice hoarse. "Please!"

"I let you hear the pretty bells, now you will do me a favor as well, okay, dear?" he asked softly, bringing his mouth to her ear and planting a small kiss there, his grip on her hair tightening as she shivered, either from the touch of his lips or the blade on her neck –or both. "But, first of all, do you know how I got these scars?"

A tear ran down her cheek and her thin lips trembled. "Do you _know_?" he pressed and she let out a whimper.

"No," she whispered, eyes closed, and he smiled slightly.

"Well, I can tell you," he said softly, his lips brushing against her earlobe as he spoke. "It was Christmas day, you know. Just like today, well, not that snowy, but it was still cold, and with happy people joyfully walking up and down with huge smiles on their faces." He paused for a moment. "I was one of these people. I was walking down the street, smiling, of course, and snowflakes were falling on my face –I had a rather pretty face, you know, whether you believe it or not. And, well, little redhead, as I was walking, I saw that girl sitting on a bench. She was alone, which took me by surprise, 'cause she was a really, really pretty girl, even prettier than you –no offense, dear."

She bit down on her lip, her eyes still closed, and he continued. "Well. I went and sat next to her, and asked her why she wasn't smiling. She told me she had stopped smiling a long, long, long time ago… And, oh, I could not understand why. You see, we two started dating, and it was pretty nice at first, but she still wasn't smiling. One night while she was sleeping," he took a breath, "I grabbed a red marker and drew a smile on her beautiful face. When she woke up she started screaming, and told me I had made her look hideous, but the argument stopped there and she left… And the same night, when I went to sleep, she came to bed, holding a knife. And…"

The girl gulped down a lump in her throat and he rolled his eyes. "Well, dear, that's mainly the reason I don't really like Christmas. It's still a nice holiday, thought, don't you think?"

She nodded, trembling, and he smiled. "I'm glad you do," he said and moved even closer to her, their bodies now touching. She was shivering. "Sing something," he spoke suddenly, letting go of her hair and wrapping his left arm around her, pulling her flush against him, though his grip on the knife did not waver. "A carol… A happy one."

To his great amazement, she complied, she sang.

"_The first Noel the angel did say__  
Was to certain poor shepards in fields as they lay__  
In fields where they lay a keeping their sheep__  
On a cold winter's night that was so deep__  
Noel Noel Noel Noel__  
Born is the King of Israel._

_They looked up and saw a star_

_Shining in the east beyond them far_

_And to the earth it gave great light__  
And so it continued both day and night__  
Noel Noel Noel Noel__  
Born is the King of Israel_."

Her voice was hoarse, trembling and barely above a whisper, and when she finished singing, fresh tears gathered in her blue eyes and streamed down her face. He ran the blade gently across her throat, careful not to cut through her pale skin as he held her tighter against him. "You have a really nice voice," he whispered and she shook even harder, her eyelids falling shut once again.

He let his lips touch her hair and her lips parted, a soft whimper leaving her throat. "A beautiful voice," he repeated, his voice almost inaudible, and he drove his knife into her white throat as a mass of red curls became the only thing he could see, flying in front of his eyes as she slumped into his embrace, blood squirting his chest.


End file.
